


Gone

by emmarae3579



Category: Zorro (TV 1990), Zorro - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmarae3579/pseuds/emmarae3579
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NWZ: writing prompt: "Your antagonist walks through an abandoned house. What is he thinking?" Now listen up! ! WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH ! *deaths. ummm...That clear enough? No spoon fights here. I haven't had the best year. So what does a fanfic writer do? Take it out on the characters, of course. But I like it, and I hope you do, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank Marla enough for her help as beta. She's incredible. She's also to blame for this little story. August 21 she posted a writing prompt in our New World Zorro FanFiction Facebook group: "Your antagonist walks through an abandoned house. What is he thinking?" Six days later, this is the result.
> 
> Also: Heed the warnings, my lovies. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Alcalde Luis Ramone wiped a gloved finger over the bar and found it covered in dust. The tavern was empty…truly empty now, though it had felt empty for more than a week. Victoria's employees had opened the doors, had served mediocre food, had tried to smile, hoping things would get better. But the tavern was lifeless without Victoria there to cook and flutter about, smirking at him and pushing all his buttons.

He strolled into the kitchen, the curtain dividing the rooms barely clinging to one side of the doorway. It was all clean, but it no longer smelled like the tavern. He used to be able to smell the flowers Victoria arranged about the tables, and even occasionally her perfume if she wore any. He missed her cooking, too. He liked to mock Victoria's food, but only to see the spark come to her eyes, to see the muscle clench in her jaw as she thought of some cutting remark to throw back at him.

The tavern had been dark, but in the kitchen a shaft of sunlight from the window tried to cast away the shadows. There was a pillow and blanket abandoned on the floor near the door, a book of poetry nearby. He rubbed his boot against the dark stain in the wood, which Mendoza and Don Alejandro hadn't been able to erase. Diego probably would have known some chemical which would remove all sign of the blood… and that wasn't that ironic?

And strange. After two years of dodging bullets and escaping capture, Zorro had jumped in front of a bullet not even meant for him. Ramone hadn't been there to witness the downfall of his nemesis. Even so, shouldn't he feel happy? Victorious? Relieved?

Victoria had survived the attack…then tried in vain to staunch his blood flowing through her fingers to the floor as Diego's life slipped away. Victoria had to be dragged away from the body, kicking and screaming, calling out to Diego as if he were still alive. Ramone hadn't seen the commotion, but he believed it.

They said afterward she just sat there by the door, by the stain of Diego's blood…blood shed for her. She didn't watch those who tried to clean it, didn't respond when friends spoke to her. Victoria sat, staring into space, clutching that book of poetry Diego had given her years ago.

Dr. Hernandez had mentioned the word catatonic. Whenever Ramone had tried to see her, Victoria had most definitely not been catatonic. She'd launched herself off the floor, screamed at him, fighting against those who restrained her, her hands reaching like talons toward his neck – her eyes glittering with anger, and hatred…and pain.

Zorro was a criminal. Ramone didn't regret hunting him. But Victoria… She'd been a thorn in his side, but he'd liked her. He'd looked forward to their little spats. Enjoyed them.

He wasn't a well-liked man, but he'd never felt so much hatred directed at him as the two times he'd tried to see her the past fortnight. After that, he stayed away, waiting and hoping. For what? He didn't know. If Alejandro hadn't held her back, he had no doubt she would have killed him with her bare hands.

He was glad Alejandro had taken care of her. The don had brought her a pillow, had cried and talked to her for hours, even with no response from Victoria. Mendoza had tried, too. Victoria no longer cared who was in her kitchen, who messed with her pots. Alejandro had carried her to her bedroom once, but she only drifted back downstairs.

The second time he tried to force her to move, she'd fought him.

Alejandro had tried to coerce her into changing her clothes, but she remained covered in blood the entire day. Finally, they emptied the kitchen and Maria bathed and changed Victoria as if she were a child.

Mendoza tried to force her to drink, but most of it wound up on her shirt.

No one could force her to eat. Not when somewhere deep inside her heart, she only wanted to die.

Luis picked up the pillow, holding it to his chest as he slid down the wall, where no one could see him cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Take a moment of silence…
> 
> So how did I do? Any tears? Marla says this might be a slight departure for me. My summer has been a bit dark, can you tell?


End file.
